


Saving Themselves

by Barbed



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Frottage, Guilt, Kissing, Loss, Multi, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbed/pseuds/Barbed
Summary: This might turn out to be another pearl in a string of John's mistakes, but he hopes it will be enough to save Marcos.  To save them both.





	Saving Themselves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karrenia_rune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/gifts).



John Proudstar hates feeling helpless. There are few things worse for a man who thrives on action and purpose, and when those are threads are cut, it leaves him paralyzed, detached from everything around him. It’s how he feels as he watches Fade and Andy and Sage turn their backs on the Underground and walk away with Lorna. He fights for the words to remind them of who they are. The words to keep their loss from turning to rage. The words to rekindle the hope they can rebuild and rise again from the ashes of Atlanta. The words to coax them away from war. 

But no words come, and all he can do is watch them go.

After the door closes behind them, the room is silent. No one speaks. No one moves. They’re all waiting, he realizes, waiting for him or Marcos to break the moment, to rally them, to reassure them they’ve done the right thing by staying with the Underground. They’re waiting to hear that their hope isn’t misplaced, but John can’t give them what they need, not when he can’t escape the feeling that he’s failed them and the fear it will happen again. 

It’s Clarice who saves them. She straightens, gives his arm a firm squeeze, and steps away from him. She goes to the others, resting a hand on a back or shoulder as she asks for help with a host of small tasks that will help them make their temporary base more secure and habitable. They move cautiously, speak gently, as they begin the work of knitting their world back together.

“John.” Clarice’s voice is soft, her fingers are warm as they curl around his hand. He wants to turn into the comfort she’s offering, wants to bury his face in her hair. He wants to lose himself in her so he can feel something other than the pain that keeps threatening to bring him to his knees. But that wouldn’t be fair. Not to Sonya or Pulse. 

Certainly not to her.

“I’ll check the perimeter.” John feels a pang of guilt as he shrugs off Clarice’s touch and walks away before she can protest. He hopes she doesn’t follow him because, more than anything, he needs to be out of this room. He needs to be away from her, from all of them, before he breaks, and he knows it’s not a question of _if_ he will but _when_. He can’t let them see that happen, because if it looks like he has lost hope, he’ll never be able to convince them to hold on to it.

John escapes into the back of the van Fade left behind. The dark presses against him as he slides down the side to sit on the floor. He draws his knees up to his chest and curls in on himself. John lets go, and his grief cascades around him. 

###

_Sonya laughs the first time he asks her if she’s flirting with him. Says that it took him long enough to notice. She ducks her head, just a little, when something he says touches her. Hides behind the fall of her fiery hair. When they kiss, when they touch, he feels her response as well as his own. Every brush of lips and tongue, every smooth glide of fingers against soft skin flows back to him. The way her brow furrows when she’s sad or worried, and how she rubs the moonstone pendant he gave her to settle herself. How she looks so small and deceptively fragile turtled into one of his sweaters to hold back Fall’s damp chill. Her smile, bright and honest, the first time he tells her that he loves her._

###

Love wasn’t enough to keep her safe, it wasn’t enough to free her when she was taken. It wasn’t even enough to bring her body out of the lab where she was murdered. John drives his fist hard into the side of the van, hard enough to dent the metal. Now Clarice looks at him the way Sonya had, and when she kisses him, he tastes rain and the sweet wind that comes just before a storm, and he’s terrified he’ll fail her too.

###

_Pulse tries to steal a hawks-eye palm stone from John and ends up with John sprawled over him as they grapple for it. During the scuffle, as clothes are yanked off, wrestling becomes rubbing and kissing and fucking. He shivers when John traces the line of the scar than runs down his right side and with his tongue. Tangling his fingers in John’s hair and pulling just enough to hurt in the best way. The needy sounds he makes when John has him in his mouth. How he always bites down hard on his lip when he comes. The way he rests his hand on John’s shoulder and covertly rubs at the nape of his neck with his thumb when John needs something to settle him. His smile, sharp and bright, when John tells him he loves him more than a brother._

###

Love didn’t keep Pulse from falling into the hands of Sentinel Services. It didn’t keep him from being crushed under their drugs and programming. It didn’t keep him from dying at the hands of one of their own. All John could do is give his body back to the earth and pray Pulse finally found peace.

The knocking at the van’s rear door jerks John into a defensive crouch. If he’s quiet, he hopes whoever is out there will get the signal and go away. He just starts to relax when the knock comes again, a bit more insistent. John closes his eyes, swallows hard. 

“Go away, Clarice.”

There’s no answer, but a heartbeat later, the door opens. Marcos stands outside, not Clarice. “I was wondering… Do you mind if I…?” He gestures to the space inside the vehicle, and before John can nod, he climbs in, closes the door behind him.

They sit in silence. Marcos staring at point on the floor next to John’s knee. Since John’s staring at Marcos, he has a moment’s warning before the words spill out in a flood.

“What am going to do, John? What can I do? She… She… She killed those people. She _killed_ them. On purpose. And she left. With those _women_.” His voice his thick with contempt. “She went with them.”

John hears the desperation and helpless rage and it’s too fresh, too raw. It’s too much like what he feels coursing through him. It’s all too much. 

“Oh, god. She went with them. And they have her. And our baby.” Light bleeds out from Marcos’s clenched fists. “They’ll keep twisting her into something terrible. And I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know how I’m going to--"

John knows he has to stop him before Marcos shatters them both. He grabs for the other man, curls his fingers tight around the back of his neck, pulls him close, and kisses him. It’s not a gentle kiss, not soothing or comforting. It’s desperate and punishing and tastes of salt and blood; but it’s all John has, and he hopes it’s enough. It _has_ to be enough. 

When Marcos brings his hands to John’s shoulders, John is certain he’s going to be pushed away, possibly punched. He can’t say he wouldn’t blame Marcos for either, but as he begins to feel alive again, as heat starts licking at the cold inside him, John isn’t sure he can let Marcos go. It might not be playing fair, but he cups Marcos through his jeans, presses his palm firmly against his fly. Marcos tenses; a shudder runs through his body; and he kisses John like this is the last chance he’ll have to kiss anyone.

“God, John…” Marcos grips his shoulders, rocks his hips to rub against John’s hand. “I don’t know… This... We… I’ve never…”

‘It’s okay. I have.” Just like that, John feels himself settle. He can do this. He can save Marcos. At least tonight, he can save him. 

John licks at Marcos’s lips, teasing them open for a lingering kiss as he undoes Marcos’s jeans. When his fingers slip past layers of fabric to stroke along Marcos’s cock, Marcos moans deeply, hips thrusting against John’s hand. 

“That’s it.” John kisses him lightly, curls his fingers around Marcos, squeezes gently. He grins when Marcos arches into his touch, groans deeply. “It’s easy.”

_Easy doesn’t mean right._ A small part of John protests. _This is a bad idea. You’ll both regret it._ It’s enough to make John’s fingers loosen around Marcos.

“Please, John.” Marcos fumbles at John’s jeans, struggling to free him from them. “I need… I need… I _need_ …”

John knows why Marcos can’t quite finish the sentence, and it’s not that blind passion is stealing his words. Marcos needs Lorna. He needs their child and for them to be together. Just like John needs Sonya and Pulse and is beginning to need Clarice no matter how much he fights against it. They can’t have the things they need most, but they need something if they’re going to go on. What they have is each other.

“Shhh.” John curls an arm around Marcos to pulls him against his body. “I know what you need. “ He brushes Marcos’s hand away from his cock and sighs as he brings their erections together. He’s watching Marcos closely, so he can see those dark eyes widen in surprise, then slip closed as John curls his fingers around them both. John rocks his hips, mmmms at the gentle friction.

Marcos exhales a soft, shivery moan. _“John…”_

John strokes them slowly as he rocks against Marcos’s cock. This might turn out to be another pearl in a string of mistakes, but right now, he needs this. They both do. “I’m here.”

Marcos’s breath hitches. He licks his lips. “Tell me… I need…”

John’s fingers tighten around them. His thumb rubs teasing circles over the heads of their cocks. It makes his cock twitch and Marcos shudder in response. “We’re going to be okay. _All_ of us. We’re going to get through this and rebuild and help our people.”

“All of us.” Marcos thrusts desperately into John’s hand. “All of us. Christ, that’s… It feels…” 

“It feels good.” John wets his lips, watches his friend. “ _You_ feel good.” He’s afraid he’s gone too far, said too much, after Marcos’s eyes open and fix on him. 

John swears his heart stops beating for the stretch of time it takes for Marcos to say, “You feel fucking fantastic.” He covers John’s hand with his own, squeezes it tighter around them, and muffles a load moan against John’s shoulder. When he speaks again, his voice is heavy with need. “John, I need… I need...”

“Hush.” John brushes his lips across Marcos’s temple as his strokes pick up speed. “I know what you need.” He kisses in front of Marcos’s ear, before murmuring, “Because I need it too.”

“You do?” Marcos’s breath is warm against his neck.

“I do.” 

John knows the day might come when he can’t save Marcos, when he can’t save himself. But tonight, as their pleasure crests and breaks over them, tonight isn’t that night. Tonight, John can save them both.


End file.
